Brothers' Keeper
by Mrs. Alex Kurosaki
Summary: It's the end of the line and Dean has to choose. Save himself or save the world. It all depends on one important factor: his brother. What will he choose?


"Kill him," Death said once more.

Dean stared down at his little brother, feelings slowly creeping up and choking him as he clutched the scythe between his hands tightly.

"Close your eyes," he says, holding back a sob.

Quiet tears creep out from Sam's slowly closing eyes, and he takes a deep breathe.

Dean starts to swing but at the last second, he holds back.

Sam can feel the cold of the scythe centimeters away from his neck; he can feel the energy and very life being sucked out of him. Cold fear runs up his spine at how close he is to death, _real_ death that he can never come back from.

"What if he comes with me?" Dean whispers quietly.

Sam holds back a gasp for fear of the blade but he listens intently.

Dean stares down at his little brother, and all he can see is the little boy he helped raise. All he can see is the little four year old he would chase around, the little two year old he would feed, the newborn he carried out of his burning home as his dad tried to save his lost mother.

Quiet taps head towards Dean and then he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Dean, you want to be sent away so you won't ever hurt anyone. If you take your brother, there'll be someone _to_ hurt. Can you bear doing that to him? Do you really think you should bring him?"

Dean chews on his lip staring at his brother.

"Yes," he breathes out. "…He keeps me human."

Sam starts to open his eyes and Dean immediately reaches out to cover his face, pulling the scythe away from him in the process.

He looks over his shoulder and stares at Death.

"Please… We'll never bother you again. We'll never do anything to trouble you, _ever_ again."

A stare down ensues between the two.

One stares in frustration, and one stares in pleading.

The seconds tick by, and the clock in the back of the restaurant soon starts to sound monstrously loud.

"Fine!" Death exclaims, throwing his hands up in defeat.

"But if anyone tries to go after you, I will not hesitate to stop them," he admonishes.

Dean can't help the smile that starts to plaster his face. It's a genuine smile that he hasn't felt or had to force in so long.

He steps towards Death to thank him, hell even hug him, but He just holds his hand up.

"Scythe first."

Dean looks down and immediately hands it to him.

Before he can breathe out another word, Death takes the scythe toward the center of the room and begins a low chant.

" _Mundum novum et vetus saeculum. Nemo scit viam facite. Maledictionem clausum sit key recedemus. Accipe puerum et filium suum. Ne inducerem eos in locum nusquam possunt!"_

What looks like a heat wave soon starts enveloping the space in front of Death, then slowly expanding. It spreads until it hits the closest enclosed points. Then Death's scythe starts lighting up. It goes from a dark blue, and slowly starts getting brighter and lighter.

"Is that… Is that angel grace?" Sam questions as Dean helps him up.

Death turns minimally so that the boys can see his face, but he doesn't look at them.

"No. It's a force unlike any you've ever encountered. It's akin to an angel's grace, yes, but no. This is in fact what a Reaper's essence looks like. You could say this is… Reaper Grace."

Dean scoffs lightheartedly, finally getting Death to give them a once over.

"What ever do you find amusing, young man?"

With a little smirk on his lips Dean says, "Oh, nothing. That just sounds like a really good band name."

With a roll of his eyes, Death looks away, but not before Dean catches a growing smile on his lips.

"I'll miss you too," he concedes.

With a quick flick of his wrist, the boys' attention is then drawn back to the glowing, and now whirling, scythe. Just as soon as it started spinning, Death brings it down and creates a tear. Bright light comes pouring out and the boys have to shield their eyes it's that illuminating.

A deep breath can be heard and as soon as the boys are used to the lighting, they look towards Death.

Right besides him is a rather large tear in the air. On the other side, bright blues and whites go flashing by, slowly calming down by the second.

"This, boys, will be your new home. Remember, you'll never be able to come back. And no one can go after you…"

Death's tone intimates a pain of immense proportions if any of these provisions are broken, but the boys are sure. They will and can go through with this.

"You ready, little brother?" Dean questions.

Sam reaches down and gives Dean's hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm with you every step of the way."

They make their way towards the impromptu door and, after a moment's hesitation, enter cautiously. A warmth can be seen in Death's eyes, but the boys are busy. They're busy preparing themselves for their new life, and for the future they've agreed to. They can't look back, even if it _is_ to thank someone for giving them another option.

Once they get through, the bubble surrounding the trio starts to rattle. Death's eyes widen as he sees a blast of light trying to make its way in.

"I wish you the best of luck," he calls out rapidly as he hurries to close the door.

He quickly chants, _"Prope novo mundo et avolavit. Accipe quotidie pueros tutarentur. Per eos ne interpellatores. Mahemium mundi princeps eorum."_

It was a mouthful, but he went as fast as he could.

And thank god for that because the moment the final stitch closed, a bolt of light came shooting down to the place where Dean Winchester once stood. It didn't care that there was a person in the way. It didn't care what happened to him.

And it was with much ardor that Death was able to swing his scythe once more as the light came flying towards him.

As the light splits in half, a shriek can be heard and it goes back where it came from just as fast as it came.

Death exhales loudly before slumping forward and crashing onto the ground.

The Winchesters always were a real pain in Death's ass. But he couldn't help liking them. Especially Dean because of how many times he got acquainted with the young fellow on a certain Tuesday that a sneaky trickster kept replaying.

"Be safe, boys…"


End file.
